


Misery

by MuggleMaybe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Carrows Reign at Hogwarts, Community: HPFT, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMaybe/pseuds/MuggleMaybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah Abbott tries to patch up Neville after he's tortured by the Carrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery

I can barely walk. My arms hang limp at my sides, and my legs sway and threaten to buckle beneath me. Twice I nearly crash into suits of armor I don’t see coming, because my eyes are clogged with angry tears. I try to remind myself that at least the girl, that impossibly small first year, has survived this day unscathed, but the fact that I rely on such a refrain is more upsetting than my bruises.

_This is not Hogwarts._

The stabbing, twisting grip of their evil words no longer holds me captive in the air or burns me until my insides scream for mercy. Still, the memory of the pain lingers. It coats me like a stain, suffocates me. Only a week has passed since the start of term, but I have aged one hundred years. Everything aches. My bones, my stomach, my head, my chest, the unstrung muscles I have never before appreciated, even my teeth.

Finally, finally, my blurred vision spots the familiar tapestry, and I pace. My head throbs too much for thought and I make no requests, but the door appears all the same. Somehow, the Room understands. So many here are enemies, but at least the castle itself remains honorable. I scramble through the entrance, and the moment it closes behind me, protecting me, the last bit of strength trickles out of me and I crumple to the floor in a heap.

“Hey, mate – Neville? Bloody hell!” The outcry is terrible because Seamus’ voice is not meant for sincerity. Everything is wrong, sideways, in this war-torn version of the world. Or maybe that’s because I’ve just hit my head against the floor.

A chorus of shouts and quickly approaching footsteps answers him. I feel a presence at my side, and then a soft, small hand is tilting my chin back into place, untangling my limbs with concise but gentle movements and positioning me on my side. The cool fingers take my arm and attempt to right it, and a blood-curdling scream rents the air. It takes me longer than it should to realize it is my own, and then the pain rears its ugly head again. A familiar voice calls out beside me.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Ginny! Ginny, I need supplies. Essence of Dittany if you’ve got it. Where did I put my wand?” The voice is sweet, purposeful, and ringing with undisguised terror. “ _Tergeo. Episkey.”_

I squint my eyes open. The world is a smear above me, an oil painting viewed too close up. I start to wonder if it’s more then tears causing my semi-blindness. Among the dabbled colors, I make out the graceful curve of a cheek, the thin, pink line of an anxious mouth, and a curtain of golden hair that seems to catch all the light in the world.

“Hannah,” I try to say, and my voice comes out as a croak.

“Shh, shh.” A shaky fingers crosses against my lips, and a shiver runs through me that I suspect has little to do with my wounds. But that is a line of thought for another time. Right now, her finger is wet with my blood.

Her hands move constantly, searching for bruises and gashes and bones unbuckled from my body. “ _Vulnera Sanentur!”_ She says, and I gasp. The pain in my arm is nearly as terrible, for a split second, as the Cruciatus itself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Something damp settles on my chin, and I notice that tears cascade down her face. She swallows so hard I can hear it. “I’m going to turn you on your other side now.”

I try to help her, but I am still so weak, and I hate myself for that.

_Useless. Useless Neville Longbottom. Like always._

Taking care to position my arms and legs, Hannah rolls me over and her breath catches. Her sobs grow in volume and I want to reach out a hand to comfort her, but I simply can’t. I am _physical unable_ to move. She pulls at the fabric of my robes. I don’t even try to hold back my scream. It’s as if she has pulled out my seams, ripped the veins straight from the nerves, and I imagine my bones and muscles unbraiding, each cell of my body dissipating into blissful nothingness where hurt cannot find me.

“Fucking Hell!” That’s Seamus again. I'm caught off gaurd; I hadn't realized he was still here.

“This is bad. Oh, God,” Hannah murmurs. Her fingers slip along my side, sinking into flesh in a way that is decidedly abnormal. “Where’s that Dittany?”

“We don’t have any,” Seamus answers behind her. “Ginny’s gone to Sprout.”

“B-but, look at him! _Tergeo!_ Oh my God. _Evanesco!”_

The temperature in the room wavers, and I realize she has just vanished my shirt. That’s no good. I imagine Hannah’s eyes - those eyes that seem to answer every prayer and warm the soul like a fire - running over my battered torso, and inside I cringe. That is not how I want those eyes to look at me. Like a victim, a patient, an object of pity.

_Weak._

“Hannah,” I mumble again.

“Shut up, Neville, shut up!” I have never heard her sound impatient before and it frightens me. Only now do I realize the depth of her panic. “I can’t wait, Seamus, I can’t wait. He’s going to d-d-d”—

Seamus cuts her off, his voice harsher than I ever imagined it could be. “Fuck, Hannah! Just do it, then! You're the one who wants to be a healer. Do whatever you can.”

For the first time, her grip tightens, her fingers hard on my waist, and I inhale a sharp breath of surprise.

She lets go at once. “Sorry! I’m so sorry! But, Neville, this is going to hurt. Too much. I think I’ll have to knock you out.”

“Stop apologizing,” I cough out. I know that if I live through this, it’s all thanks to Hannah. There is nothing in life that could repay her.

Her fingers brush the hair out of my face. “ _Sumno invictum_.”

Seamus says something, but the words corrode in my ears, and then the world goes black.

*

_Darkness._

In my dream, darkness. Behind my swollen eyelids, darkness. Wrapped tight around me like bandages, darkness.

When I wake, the room is dim. Below me, I register the soft comfort of a mattress. The light comes from a lantern on the bedside table, where Hannah has propped a book.

_Hannah._

She hears me stir and looks up. “Oh, thank Merlin! We were so worried. I was so worried.”

I struggle to sit, and she reaches over to help me. The instant I’m upright, she forces a cup into my hands. “Drink this.”

I take a sip. It’s warm and earthy, like fallen leaves. “Thanks.” I turn to face her, and my hands immediately shake so badly, I nearly drop the mug before she stills me.

Hannah’s lip is scabbed, a bruise swells around her left eye, and a brutal looking scar runs from her collarbone down toward a place where my gaze struggles not to follow it.

“What happened?” I reach out to touch her purpled cheekbone, and only at the last second do I pull back, blushing.

“Someone ratted me out for healing.” She reads the unasked question in my expression and shakes her head. “I don’t know who it was. I went to grab some supplies once I had your more or less stable, and Carrow caught me sneaking out of the hospital wing.”

“Girl Carrow or Boy Carrow?”

“Girl Carrow.” Hannah scowls at the memory, a strange expression on her normally placid face. “She dragged me off to Snape’s office.”

“Detention?”

“Detention,” she affirms. We sit in quiet for a moment while the dread settles in my stomach, because we both know what a detention means these days. “Really, it could have been a lot worse. They only tortured me, they didn’t make me _do_ it.”

“There are so many things wrong with that sentence.”

Her eyes flutter closed and she sighs.  “I know. You’re right. I just meant… you refused to use _Crucio_ and look what they did to you for it! And I didn’t get it that badly anyway, because they made Daphne Greengrass do it, and I’m pretty sure she tried to make it as weak as possible. She was crying. Anyway, I fixed myself up after.”

I want to leap from the bed and hunt down anyone who would do that, who would dare to hurt the kindest person I know, but I am still too weak and my temper boils over. “That bitch!”

“Neville, don’t”—

“If she was so torn up about it, she shouldn’t have bloody done it!”

“You know what it’s like. They would have hurt her.”

"They hurt you! _She_ hurt you! You’re too forgiving.”

Her hand settles on my shoulder, a warm touch. “We can’t all be as brave as you, Neville.”

I look away. “I’m not that brave.”

“You are. You _are_.”

“Hannah.” My voice feels thick in my throat and I stop, meeting her eyes, willing my face to convey what my words cannot.

“We’re going to get through this,” she says, not looking away. Her hair tumbles into her face. It’s matted and unkempt after her torture, but resolutely golden in the flickering light. I reach up and delicately slide the blonde locks behind her ear.

Looking more closely, I see the small cuts and bruises that litter her face and neck, the skin sticky with remnants of heavily shed tears.

“I hate this.” My voice is bitter. “I hate seeing you so miserable.” 

She bites her lip, her eyes teasing, and this time the rising heat is a welcome sensation. Out of the blue, she laughs, spoiling the moment. “Well, you know what they say: Misery loves company.”

I shake my head ruefully. “Not me. I’d rather be miserable alone.”

My fingertips linger on her jaw and I tell myself to let go, but Hannah is like a magnetic force, a staccato melody that has altered my pulse in irrevocable ways. My hand rebels against my will, rising warmly to the side of her face, and suddenly my gaze can’t choose between her eyes and her lips.

_Hannah._

She leans towards me. “Neville?”

My breath stops. “Yeah?”

“I’d rather be miserable with you, than happy anywhere else in the world.”

All at once, we are kissing, and life is momentarily pure. Only this exists, only us, battered, and bold, and bathed in lantern light.

_Sweet, sweet, sweet._

_Hannah._

_This is a new flavor of oblivion._

*

Hours later, I watch Hannah’s face, so restful in sleep, and something within me softens. I think I recognize it, a sparkling thrill of innocence that fuels hope even when hope makes no sense. Maybe, just maybe, we can still win this war.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling
> 
> Inspired by the proverb was "Misery loves company."
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought of this story. Thanks for reading!


End file.
